3
On the way back to the inn, Ivy decided to take the beach route because she’d missed her morning walk. Poppy was looking after the inn, and Shelly should be there soon, so she wouldn’t be missed. Drinking in the ocean air, she slung the canvas shopper over her shoulder and slipped off her sandals.
With determined steps, she stumbled over the dunes until she reached the damp, sea-smoothed sand near the water’s edge. As she did, Shelly’s words about Bennett rushed through her mind.
Seeking to understand her hesitance with Bennett—though she did not question her love for him—Ivy thought about how she’d come to this point in her life.
Over the last couple of years, she’d traded her life as an anticipatory problem-solver—perfectly laundered shirts for Jeremy, new clothes for Sunny, drama lessons for Misty, nutritious meals for all—for a life where she was responsible for only her well-being.
Not counting guests of the inn. Or Sunny. Or running a business.
On the other hand, maybe she was too busy.
She put the roof over her head—although technically, it had been Jeremy’s earned income. But hadn’t her daily toil been worth something?
Of course, she told herself.
Now, her labor was measured in what a guest would pay for a clean, well-decorated room, a morning meal, and pleasant conversation. She was trading her skills on the open market. And that had bought independence.
She rather liked that feeling.
It was like that first sip of Coca-Cola—all fizzy and sweet and caffeinated. A lot like lust, and even a little like love, except that real love, she thought, deepened into a smooth liqueur of the richest flavor—perhaps the color of Bennett’s golden hazel eyes.
When it wasn’t right, love settled into a feeling akin to tolerance, excuses for the other, and resignation that this was all there was and would ever be. She knew that feeling—and never wanted it again. But with Bennett, the feeling was different from what she had known before.
Was it really?
With each step, she dug her toes deeper into the sand. Water swirled around her ankles as the sea spilled in and swept out again.
Blinking against the bright sunlight that blazed against the glittering sand, she felt a stark realization hit her like a chilly Pacific wave.
While she had loved Jeremy, they had not been in love. The I’ve-got-your-back, in-sickness-and-in-health, first-signs-of-gray, and post-baby-belly kind of love that loves regardless. With Jeremy, she had to maintain her Standards with a capital S. To him, a slight muffin top and gray roots meant she had let herself go in the most egregious manner.
It wasn’t her imagination; he’d told her so.
Now she knew that had been a warning before he settled on a younger model.
So now, the love of a good man who accepted her for who she was—with a frown too deep, a sprinkle of gray, a soft muffin-top around the middle—was heady stuff.
However, that didn’t mean she had to give up her hard-won accomplishments, did it? She loved making her own money and spending it any way she pleased, even though it was usually on paint or repairs for the house. Her budget might not be as large as when she’d been with Jeremy, but it was all hers. She didn’t have to think twice about buying a new pair of sandals, even if she really didn’t need them in orange.
For the first time in her life, she was truly in charge of her life and her decisions. As a young woman, she’d gone from being dependent on her family to being dependent on Jeremy. Now, there was no one to report to, no one to ask for permission. Except for taxes and guests, she had her freedom.
Oh, yes. Heady stuff, indeed.
Her forceful footsteps scared a lone shorebird, who skittered back to the safety of its flock.
Silly bird.
On the other hand, she’d encountered loneliness in Boston after Jeremy’s death. Living in a rented room, her daughters busy with their lives, her friends juggling commitments with family and other married couples as she once had. The best decision she’d ever made, crazy though it seemed to her friends back east, had been to take on the dilapidated old house that Jeremy had never meant for her to have and create a livelihood for herself.
Slowing her step, she wondered if welcoming Bennett fully into her life would mean giving up the personal agency she’d just discovered? Sure, it was all professions of love and moonlight kisses now, but would she end up taking on the responsibility of the care and tending of a full-grown man? Would she be the one in charge of shopping, groceries, laundry, medical appointments, relatives’ birthdays, and so on ad infinitum?
Would his needs eclipse hers?
Bennett didn’t seem like that type now, but she was wary—not of him, necessarily, but of her actions.
It would be too easy to fall into the role of full-on helpmate again—not that that was entirely a bad thing, mind you—but at her age and station in life, she yearned to do more—to live for herself, too. She wanted to paint, tuck money aside for her eventual retirement, take a few pleasure trips, and buy purple shoes if she felt like it. Not that she couldn’t do those things with Bennett.
So why hadn’t she done those things with Jeremy?
Because his needs and those of their children had always come first.
She stooped to pick up an interesting pink shell, broken but still beautiful. That’s how she felt now.
Turning this dilemma and new thoughts over in her mind, she walked on until she finally reached the inn. With a renewed sense of purpose, she kicked sand from her feet and entered the nest of her own making.
Ivy placed the broken shell on the kitchen counter. Cut flowers were in the sink, and Poppy emerged from the butler’s pantry with several small vases.
“I found these for the guest rooms,” Poppy said. “Amelia had so much here. I can’t imagine what their place in San Francisco was like.” As she trimmed the flowers, she asked about the book club.
Ivy eased onto a stool. “There’s a lot of interest. I just spoke to Paige about it, and I told Jen, Darla, and a couple of others about it. Everyone seems interested.”
“Here, too,” Poppy said.
“Who?”
“Gilda and Imani for sure,” Poppy said. “We talked about it over breakfast. Gilda writes book reviews for magazines, so she volunteered to compile a potential reading list. Imani listens to audiobooks at Blossoms when business is slow, so she keeps up on books, too.”
“New or classics?” Ivy asked.
Poppy snipped a rose. “Something beachy would be fun.”
Ivy lifted a corner of her mouth in thought. “Let’s make a list. We can compare notes at the first meeting.”
“Everyone knows lists are your department,” Poppy said. “Besides, I have to babysit the vegetables out there for Shelly.” She nodded toward the rear garden where lettuce, tomatoes, sugar snap peas, and peppers grew.
Ivy shook her head. They all missed Shelly’s help at the inn.
Poppy stuffed flowers in the vases.
Ivy slid from the stool. “I’ll put those in the rooms.”
“Thanks,” Poppy said. “By the way, do we have any more ink for the printer, or should I pick up more in town?”
“I’ve already done that,” Ivy said. “You’ll find an extra cartridge in my shopping bag over there. You must be doing a lot of printing.”